


Shaping a Flame

by goldtoashes, heirsofbrokenlegacies (jarofhearts)



Series: Making the most of loving you [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Older Sibling Maedhros (Tolkien), Sibling Love, Years of the Trees, Young Maedhros, questionable parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtoashes/pseuds/goldtoashes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/heirsofbrokenlegacies
Summary: A young Maitimo visits his father in the forge. When their talk turns to Maitimo's newborn cousin Findekáno, he learns something important about how how Fëanáro sees the world.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Making the most of loving you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034202
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Shaping a Flame

**Author's Note:**

> So! Here we are, back with our next batch of drabbles that set up our world for the big stories that come later. This time, we follow our favourite elf/elf couple on a journey of how they fell in love. :) We hope you enjoy, would love to hear what you think, and wish you a damn good day!

Sometimes, this was simply the way it happened: I would stand in my father’s workshop, that overflowing place of projects, sketches, tools, raw material and ingenuity, and wait to be acknowledged despite the fact that I was  _ supposed  _ to be here. The longest I had ever stood and waited had been nearly half an hour - I had counted in my head to pass the time.

Today, it didn’t take nearly as long. In fact, my father looked up only moments after I had entered and gave me a brief nod of acknowledgement.

“Nelyafinwë. Do sit down at my desk, it’ll be another moment.” 

He had the distracted look in his sharp grey eyes that I knew too well, already gazing back intently at the chalkboard where he had been sketching some sort of complex network or structure in his energetic handwriting.

“Yes, father.”

I didn’t mind, honestly. Of course I would have preferred to be outside playing with my friends, or Káno, but being the eldest in the third generation of my house, I had learned early in life to entertain myself, if only in thought. And when I hopped up on my father’s seat, a whole bunch of notes that were scattered across the right side of the desk immediately drew my attention.

I wasn’t shy of looking, knowing that my father wouldn’t have sent me here if there was anything on his desk he would mind me seeing.

First, I merely leaned over, studying what I was seeing - the unfamiliar symbols, straight lines with curved bellys, some open, some closed, the intriguing similarities and differences. The way some were arranged into elegant little packages.

After a while, I glanced over to my father. But because he did not seem close to finishing, I reached over, pulled the notes closer, and carefully scattered them around myself.

And then, time flew.

I realized that it had gone quiet first, and only then looked up to find my father standing beside me. Laurelin’s light shining in through the windows had become a little paler.

“What do you call it?” I wanted to know, carefully twirling the quill in my hand.

“Tengwar _ , _ ” he said, though his eyes were on the parchment that I had scribbled on, before he looked back up at me expectantly. “Since you apparently tried your hand at them already - what do you think?”

His voice was mild, but I had learned to recognize a test when I was being presented with it.

I glanced down at his paper and the symbols - tengwar - I had carefully scrawled.

“I like that you put them together by what your mouth does. And your throat… and nose,” I added after a moment of considering what sounds exactly one made when speaking, gesturing at the breakdown of letters that was arranged on one page into lines and columns.

My father gave an approving hum. “Yes. Can you imagine why I did that? What kind of benefit it provides?”

I gave myself the time to consider the question. Those coming from my father were often tricky, especially when he was testing me, so I had learned early to think before speaking, knowing he minded that less than the other way around.

“Because then it’s easy to learn which… tengwa to use when you know which sound you make,” I decided eventually, but then hesitated and added, “And to remember what it looks like. Here… they all have the square angle to the right, and one or two bellies,” I explained, gesturing at the second column.

He gave me an amused look. “Well, that’s right, Nelyafinwë. But I didn’t just come up with them because they’d be easier to learn. To have a structure that follows the sounds rather than the language they are devised on allows to use the tengwar for  _ any _ language, not just the Quenya we speak here in Valinor. You could easily use the same tengwa to write in Valarin, or…” he paused for a moment, lost in thought, “whatever  _ other _ languages they speak in Endóre these days.”

“Endóre?” I looked up at him in surprise, but even though the question was on the tip of his tongue, I decided not to ask. One thing I had learned in life was that my father never did anything without reason.

Instead, I voiced the other question that had come up in my mind.

“But… Valarin has sounds we don’t have. Right? The…” And I imitated the clicking noise that started way at the back of my throat.

“Right.” My father’s eyes were still resting on the symbols I had drawn, having tried to spell my name and the ones of my parents and brother with the new tengwar alphabet. 

“I see you already figured out all by yourself how it works,” he finally said approvingly. “You’ve done well, son. It would seem you do have a certain aptitude for linguistics.” 

Out of his mouth, this was likely one of the highest praises one could hope to receive, and I instantly felt myself flush with warmth and accomplishment. My father held himself and everyone around him to such high standards and never held back on his criticism, often so sharply that the words could cut like a knife. So for him to say this must mean that I was doing very well in this indeed.

“Thank you, father.”

He gave me a brief smile, reaching for a stool so he could sit next to me. “Now. How about your other studies? What else did you learn this week?”

Immediately, I put down the quill and turned more towards my father, knowing through experience how important this was to him.

No matter how busy he was, when it came to my education, I could be sure to have all of my father’s attention - sometimes more than I cared for. He had made no secret about the fact that he was sceptical about the competence of any of Káno’s and my teachers. So when our mother had suggested that if no one was good enough, he should complement his sons’ education himself, he had in fact stepped up to the challenge, calling us into his workshop on a regular basis to enquire about what we had learned and expand or, if he deemed it necessary, correct our knowledge.

“Most of it was the trip to Alqualondë. On the way there, Sarto showed me how to gut a fish and roast it over a fire. King Olwë told me about his lost brother, how they searched for him, and how they came to Valinor on Tol Eressëa - or what is now Tol Eressëa,” I amended. I had always enjoyed these lessons, where the oldest elves among us spoke of times long past. I often asked my grandfather for more of such tales, and most of the time, he indulged me gladly. “I have learned a song about Hendumaico and the crossing of the Great River. They showed me how to weave the best nets, how to feel the currents when swimming out in the sea, and about steering a ship.” There had been so many new things for me to learn, just like when Ihad visited the Vanyar, and I spent a long time recounting the details of that particular journey.

“They have a certain skill set with all things concerning the sea,” my father agreed, “though not much more than that. What else?”

“Today I spent time with Larcatal,” I answered, in my excitement briefly forgetting that there were other things my father would be more interested in. “She allowed me to put my ear on her belly and listen for the heartbeat of her fowl, and Awaldion showed me how to best care for her, and how to recognize that it will only be days now until the birth.” I felt a sense of happy excitement, as always when I spoke about my riding lessons or the horses that came to make my acquaintance.

My father nodded, although indeed a little impatiently. “That’s all fine, son, what about your lessons with regard to craft and the elements that compose the matter of Arda?”

Of course. I briefly berated myself in my mind for that lapse and quickly changed gears. “The element I learned about was tungsten. You find it almost only together with other elements and not alone, it is strong and dense and has a high melting point,” I recited the most basic facts first, and then turned to as many details as I could remember, including how it had felt in my hand, how to recognize it, where we had found most of it in Valinor so far, and what uses were known for it. My father was clearly most interested about that part, humming at my descriptions, correcting a few details and eventually groaning slightly when I told him that the element was brittle and hard to work with due to its robustness.

“Only if one is stupid enough to hack at it in its raw form. If correctly, mind you,  _ correctly  _ purified, it is nice and malleable while still maintaining its hardness. It is actually a very fine material to work with.” He scanned his workshop with a thoughtful expression. “I have some of it here, I can show you and then you can tell your tutors they should stop teaching you such nonsense.”

Instantly, I found myself feeling bad on behalf of his tutors. My shoulders hunched slightly, hands clasped between my knees, and I amended, “Mánion did only say it is brittle in its raw form… I’m sorry, I should have been more precise.”

My father just gave a slight huff, not elaborating further on whether he blamed me or my tutor for the imprecision. Instead, his eyes went back to the tengwar I had scribbled upon the parchment.

“How much do you enjoy working in the forges or learning about the elements, Nelyafinwë?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue. “Compared to, say, learning about linguistics and script.”

The question instantly felt like a test to me, and my mind whirred on what the correct answer was. “I enjoy it!” was the first thing I came up with, my mind pushing it out without truly giving me time to consider anything else.

My father raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. “Do you really? I have never seen you practice such things on your own, without having been told. Neither does the quality of your work on gems and metal reflect the great enjoyment you claim. It’s adequate for your age I suppose, but can hardly be called outstanding.”

Utterly lost for words, I looked down at the clasped hands between my knees. He was right, of course - I never went into the forge outside of my lessons, too content to fill my days with many other things. But I didn’t want him angry, so… maybe I would need to do that?

Yet what he had asked about had been whether I  _ enjoyed  _ it. Not whether I was  _ good  _ at it.

“It’s… not what I enjoy  _ most _ ,” I finally admitted, hesitating, gaze stuck on my hands. But I needed to ask, tentatively glancing up from under his lashes. “Are you disappointed?”

The scrutinizing gaze out of silver eyes was hard to interpret. “I am disappointed only when you tell me something just because you think I want to hear it, son,” my father said after a while. “There will always be some things that you enjoy more than others, it is quite natural. If you care more for crafting words and language than for metal and jewels, that is alright by me.” He paused. “That is, if you don’t neglect the latter or stop striving for improvement altogether. You and Kanafinwë  _ are  _ my sons, and as such have a reputation to uphold. Do you understand that, Nelyafinwë?”

This time, I did consider the question before thinking of replying, not wanting to make another mistake like that. Not now, when something horribly nervous was slowly sinking in my chest despite the relief it accompanied.

“Yes, father,” I finally said and gave a small nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze softened visibly, and he reached out to gently squeeze my shoulder in an encouraging gesture. “I know you both have it in you to excel in the areas you are gifted in, and to surpass most others even in areas that suit you less. You are Noldor and my sons, it is in your blood. It has to be. But it won’t come easy, as nothing of true worth does. You must always work hard, strive for excellence in whatever it is you set your mind on. Try to surpass others and, most importantly, yourself, over and over again, and I promise you, people will always speak of the sons of Fëanáro with awe.”

I did not quite know how, but suddenly I realized, wide-eyed, watching my father speak, that this terrible sinking feeling was gone. It had dissolved into something else - something bright and burning, that made me want to prove my father  _ right now _ that I could do everything he had just told me.

“I will,” I promised, eyes bright and voice fierce. If my father was convinced I could do all that, be all that - then surely he was right.

“Yes.” He squeezed my shoulder once more, an unusually soft expression in his eyes. “I know you will.” 

He paused for a moment and I expected that he would get back to my lessons right away. But instead he asked, seemingly out of the blue, “You and your mother went to visit your uncle’s house today, to see his wife and the baby. How did that go?”

Taken aback, I quickly studied his face. Uncle Ñolofinwë was always a difficult subject in my father’s presence, and it surprised me that he would bring it up himself now.

“Everything went alright,” I decided to say, careful at first, but then could not hold myself back from adding more since those words simply could not capture how much I had enjoyed our visit. “Findekáno has dark hair, like Káno, and he’s as small as he was too. He’s a fussy baby though, Aunt  Anairë said. But she allowed me to hold him, and he smiled at me.”

The memory brought a smile to my face as well, and a soft and warm and squishy feeling to my chest.

“Findekáno, huh?” my father said with a slight huff. “Kind of a weird name. Was Ñolofinwë there, too?”

I thought it was actually a pretty good name, but stayed quiet about that.

"He was, yes," I confirmed instead, carefully studying my father's face. "But I spoke more with Aunt  Anairë ."

Slightly more, at least. Uncle Ñolofinwë had seemed very happy as well, and I always felt good around and liked talking to others who were happy.

“So what else did your Aunt have to say?” my father asked, and I wondered if there was anything he was  _ waiting  _ for, anything he expected to happen, or for them to say.

But if there was, I couldn’t figure it out, so I went with the truth.

“She asked me what I thought about having a little cousin now. I said I like it.” Especially with how the baby had looked at me, with big, bluegrey eyes, and how he had smiled. The thought made me smile too. “It’s almost like with Káno. I like being a big brother.”

“Hm.” The look in my father’s silver-grey eyes was hard to fathom. “I am glad to hear, son. There’s a crucial difference between your  _ brother _ and your  _ half-cousin _ though, and I hope you are well aware of that.”

“I know,” I said immediately, because  _ obviously  _ there was a difference. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t still take care of Findekáno, and play with him, and maybe teach him some things, just like I was doing with Káno. Right?

“No, you don’t know. I’d be surprised if you did.” My father pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Listen to me, Nelyafinwë. I know that your aunt and your mother want you and your siblings to be close to your half-cousin. Have you grow up together, play together, have the older children teach the younger ones, that kind of thing. In general, I don’t mind it. But I need you as my eldest son and my heir to understand where your responsibilities lie.” He hesitated visibly, a somewhat gloomy expression on his face. “ _ If  _ something were to ever happen to me - it would be up to you to take care of our house and the people who follow us, to look after your siblings and make sure others encounter the House of Fëanáro with the respect that we deserve.”

“ _ Happen _ to you? But -” I said instantly, somewhere between confused and alarmed. Before I could finish the thought, however, I swallowed down the rest of the words on the tip of my tongue. An unfamiliar, unexpected weight suddenly seemed to sink onto my shoulders, one I didn’t like at all.

Just last month I had heard that a young elf had gone to the Halls of Mandos because of a very unfortunate fall while climbing. It was certainly possible.

Something had happened to my grandmother as well, after all.

“Calm down and don’t look at me like a scared rabbit,” my father said a little gruffly. “I didn’t say something  _ will  _ happen. But I like to think in possibilities, and if something unexpected were to happen, I need you to know that you will have to step up and take on my responsibilities. I need you to understand that your family - that is, your mother and your siblings - always need to come first, before everyone else. Do you understand?”

_ Before everyone else. _

The words echoed in my mind, bouncing back and forth.

I had always felt responsible for Káno anyway, and for my new baby sibling that was due to be born any day now. But maybe my father was right. I  _ was  _ the firstborn Fëanárion.

_ Before everyone else. _

“I think I do.”

“Good.” My father closed his eyes for a moment and I thought he sounded relieved, before his piercing gaze focussed back on me. “And can you also promise me that you will do as I have asked you to? Put your family first, whatever may happen?”

For a moment, my little cousin and his smile flickered through mymemory, but was quickly followed by my mother’s kind eyes and my little brother’s loving hugs and the soft little kicks I had felt under my hand in my mother’s belly. And right then, I could not imagine anything that might make me want or need to act differently than my father asked.

“I promise.”

And I did receive one of my father’s rare true smiles for it, a hand gently tousling my hair.

“You’re a good boy, Nelyafinwë. Now let us refocus on your education, shall we? I think I was about to give you a demonstration on why tungsten is such a fine material to work with.”

The words of praise and the gentle touch were enough to lift some of that weight off my shoulders, and I gladly jumped to my feet.

My father was a special elf, I knew that. He was often difficult - hard to please, impossible to sway, with the highest standards and a proud, unforgiving mind.

But he shone like a flame, and I wanted to make him proud - to be what my father hoped me to become. So I would put more effort into my studies, even those that didn’t come naturally to me. And I would take care of my family, my little siblings - no matter what.


End file.
